


Living Memory

by Kahvi



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-22
Updated: 2009-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always Rimmer and Lister. Always the same. Except... not quite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an idea by [](http://roadstergal.livejournal.com/profile)[**roadstergal**](http://roadstergal.livejournal.com/), who remains my muse.

It was not just Kochanski's memorial.

Despite having spoken, gone out drinking, danced and quite often slept with a lot of them, even Lister could not remember _all_ the dead members of Red Dwarf's crew. Most of those he _did_ remember he didn't know much about, and trying to do anything meaningful to honor their memory was a bit like trying to keep a conversation going at a restaurant after discovering you had absolutely nothing in common with your date. Lister couldn't do much for those people, though he'd made a printout of all of their names, and hung it round one of the support columns in the engine room. They were resting now in the heart of the ship. It would have to do. Those he knew though; those whose names made his heart and head ache and his gut churn; those he'd genuinely cared about, one way or another, those he tried to give a little something extra.

Petersen was easy. Lister thought of him whenever he cracked open a fresh can of lager. Once in a while, when he got really, really _proper_ drunk, Lister would make the trek up to the memorial and collapse in front of it, falling asleep as he slurred his way through Danish songs he'd never asked what were about, and never would, now. He hoped some of the words were rude.

He tried to do a little something for everyone; even saluting the Captain's portrait now and then, if only because he knew it annoyed Rimmer. He would tell jokes to Chen, and insult Selby, keeping a straight face as long as he could. He laughed and cried, and tried to keep a little bit of them all alive inside him, still, by doing what they would have done.

To some, he read.

"Hey," Lister told the slab of stone, not expecting a reply. "I know I don't come by as often as I should, but... you know."

He shrugged, awkwardly. There were footsteps behind him; Lister ignored them. He knew well, after all these years, whose they would be. This was none of Rimmer's concern.

"I found something special today. Thought ye might like it." He coughed, adjusting the photograph leaning carefully against the slab. He rotated them from time to time so they wouldn't get bored of the view. "It's a book," Lister explained helpfully, holding the volume up for inspection.

"Lister?" Rimmer's nasal voice demanded from behind, somewhat incredulous. "What the smeg are you doing?"

" _Anyway,_ " Lister enounciated, pointedly, "It's all about things you like, like history and generals and wars and things."

" _Lister?_ " The voice whined again, but Lister had learned to carefully ignore it.

"It's by this woman called Mary Renault. You know, like the car?"

"This is a wind-up. This is some complicated joke that I won't know the punchine to until three in the morning, when you've reconfigured my bee to project my genitals from my forehead."

" _I thought you'd enjoy it and all,_ " Lister said, a little louder, "because it's got that guy you like in there, Alexander... something."

"Alexander the _Great_ , you smegging moron! How can anyone remember 'Alexander' and not remember 'Great'?!" Rimmer's voice was rising, telling Lister he was close to his breaking point.

"It's called _The Persian Boy_." Lister paused, frowning at the cover. "Persian? I thought he was Greek or something. Those pictures you've got of him are all half naked statues and that, like the Greeks made. Or was that the Romans?"

There was a picture on the cover, Lister noted, and it was indeed of a half-naked man. Well, what did he know? "Macedonia,"Rimmer mumbled behind him, and Lister smiled, then cleared his throat.

" _Lest anyone should suppose I am the son of nobody, sold off by some peasant father in a drought year, I may say our line is an old one, though it ends with me..._ "

  
It was not, Rimmer reflected, after half an hour, the sort of book he would ever admit to reading, though it was pretty close to some of the ones that were hidden under his mattress, beneath the inflatable girlfriend with whom he had shared a mutually dysfunctional relationship. There was a lot of talk about the more technical aspects of man-on-man sex, and other parts confirmed a lot of things he'd often suspected about Greeks. He tried his best to block his ears during those bits, moving quickly to the battles and court intrigue.

Why he simply did not leave the room was a mystery Rimmer was not ready to confront at the moment.

Lister's voice preformed the verbal equivalent of a back being cracked, and as he rose, his back did the same, in a regular fashion. Brushed his jeans off, Lister closed the book.  
"Be seeing ya," he told thephotograph, tipping his hat. The Rimmer in the photograph did not reply, but the one Lister faced when turning around was another matter entirely.

" _What_. The _smeg_. Is this. About," that Rimmer asked, in a voice about an octave and a half below his usual range.

Lister shrugged, pushing past him.

"Shrug? A _shrug?_ Listy; when you sit down to read gay porn to a man's portrait for nearly an hour, that man is entitled to something more of an explanation than a _shrug._ "

Lister looked up at him. It occurred to Rimmer that he hadn't really looked at Lister for rather a long time. It got that way, when you were forced together in close quarters on a mile-long ship. _Yes,_ that Kochanski business had worn him down somewhat, but surely he had never looked that old? Not _old_ old, but that annoying sort of aging where the only thing affected is your eyes. Rimmer swallowed, wondering how long the average human being could stare at something without blinking.

Lister very carefully did not blink, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "What makes you think," he said, as Rimmer involuntarily took a step back, "that's it's you?"

Heavy, worn boots stomped away.

Feeling the eyes of the photograph bore through the back of his neck, Rimmer realized he had forgotten to breathe again.


End file.
